Regina Scott (9 page)

He puffed out a breath through his nose as if he doubted that. “Love, eh? A questionable quality. I have not found it to be particularly reliable as a predictor of success.”

Emma frowned. How could he say that? True, she had had little human love growing up, and some would say she had made a success for herself. But she knew that her success came from God’s love. He had been the one to look out for her when others hadn’t. He’d been the one she’d run to when she’d been afraid. If Alice had her earthly father’s love as well, what more could she want?

“I think love is the most important emotion,” she said. “Perfect love is the pinnacle of human achievement.”

He shook his head. “In my experience, the ideal is rarely achievable.”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try!” Emma protested.

He raised a brow at her vehemence, and she nearly sighed aloud. There she went again, voicing an opinion when none was wanted. It seemed because she’d kept her opinions inside for so many years they must find voice now. Yet she couldn’t help wondering at his insistence. What made Sir Nicholas think love was so unattainable?

Mrs. Jennings had said that he and his late wife had been in love. What if she’d been wrong? Did the noted philosopher truly know nothing about the tender emotion of love? Was that why he had held his daughter at arm’s length?

He stopped in the middle of the path. “Forgive me, Miss Pyrmont. My conversation wasn’t very astute or useful. I fear I’m not particularly good company today. Perhaps you and Alice should continue on alone.”

She should probably have pity on him, but she was loath to let him escape so easily. Surely, the more she teased him into Alice’s company, the more he would enjoy being around his daughter.

“I’m sorry your progress doesn’t please you,” she ventured as Alice skipped back toward them. “No one’s mentioned seeing smoke coming out of the doorway of your laboratory. I was hoping that was a good sign.”

“You would be mistaken,” he replied. “Now the material won’t catch fire at all, and I can’t determine what I’m missing.”

He sounded so dejected that Emma couldn’t resist helping. “I was always told fire requires three things,” she said, eying Alice where she’d stopped to gaze at a passing butterfly. “Heat, fuel and air. Vary any one, and you control the flame.”

“Indeed,” he said. “I understand the basic principles, Miss Pyrmont.”

She thought she’d overstepped her bounds again, but he continued as if they’d just met and were having a conversation at a fine ball in London. “The heat appears to be constant, despite my best efforts to vary it. At the moment, we have only certain types of fuel—tallow, whale oil and the like. And of course we know that air can vary belowground.”

“Some of it being flammable,” Emma agreed.

He eyed her, black brows raised, and she realized she’d blundered. Nannies did not understand the changes in oxygen levels underground when those changes had only been discovered a few decades ago. Women who had been raised in the household of a natural philosopher just might.

“I read about it in the
Times,
” she hurried to add, “when my previous master had finished with it. Terrible accidents have been caused by flammable air!”

He seemed to accept her explanation, which was the truth. She had read about it in the
Times,
but only after learning too much about it during her residence in the Fredericks household.

But his concern, for once, was not his work. He nodded to the path ahead. “Is it wise to let her do that?”

Alice had strayed from the path in pursuit of the butterfly, her blue skirts brushing the sparse undergrowth. Emma hurried forward and called her back. She didn’t know of any dangers in the woods, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep the girl to the path.

Just as Emma needed to mind her path if she was to ensure Sir Nicholas and Alice’s future together without revealing her own past.

Chapter Nine

W
hen Nick finally bid Alice and Miss Pyrmont good afternoon, he was in a thoughtful mood. He’d tarried with them in the woods for longer than he’d originally intended. His mind had felt clearer, as Miss Pyrmont had predicted, but he wasn’t certain the fresh air had caused the change.

Something about being with the nanny and her charge invigorated him.

He had several hypotheses for the phenomena. It could have stemmed from the enjoyment of explaining his actions to an interested audience. It could have been the congenial surroundings of people who seemed to appreciate him. But he suspected it had more to do with the wit and kindness of his daughter’s nanny.

And why should that be? He had not known many women. His father and Ann’s had been lifelong friends who had encouraged their children to unite the families in marriage. He and Ann had been companions since they were in leading strings. She was comfortable, consistent. The other young ladies he’d met in Society were far more unpredictable, with mad whims and bold laughter. Marrying Ann had seemed the logical course for his goals to pursue the career of a natural philosopher.

Miss Pyrmont was not comfortable. She challenged him to see things differently—Alice, his role as a father, even his work. But she did it all with a general good nature and pragmatic approach he could not refute. He found himself wondering how such a female had come into being.

He also found himself hungry, so on the way back to his laboratory he stopped by the kitchen for a snack.

This time, Mrs. Jennings was the only one in evidence, and she smiled at the sight of him. “Sir Nicholas. How might I be of service?”

“I thought a little something to sustain me until your excellent dinner,” he confessed, venturing into her domain. He’d always liked the kitchen at the Grange. The copper pots hung from the far wall in graduated sizes. The fire at one side was balanced by the large window on the other. And while Mrs. Jennings’s chemistry did not involve industrial materials, it certainly produced just as interesting results.

Now his cook’s hands fluttered, reminding him of the birds Alice had spotted in the woods. “Of course! I’ll have another batch of those cinnamon biscuits done cooking any minute. But you’ll want something more substantial with them. Shall I put together a tray and have it brought to your laboratory or will you wait?”

He should probably have the food delivered so he could return immediately to his work. But he didn’t think it particularly healthful to mix materials he intended to consume with materials he intended to ignite, and it struck him suddenly that he might find more answers to his other line of inquiry if he stayed.

“I am quite content to wait on your good pleasure,” he assured his cook. He pointed to the stool beside the worktable. “If I may?”

“Oh, of course.” She hurried to dust off the seat with a towel. He nodded his thanks and sat while she bustled around the kitchen.

His feet touched the floor easily. He remembered other times when it hadn’t been so. The kitchen had seen more of him than he’d seen his mother or father. They had never seemed sure what to do with him.

His parents had been married for many years, his mother approaching forty, when he’d been born. He had always wondered whether his advent into the world had been a surprise, and a not-too-pleasant one at that. Either way, his father had made it plain that ladies were far above the inquisitive, occasionally messy pastimes of young gentlemen, and his father had other matters to attend to. That these matters were more important than Nick had been too evident to question.

So Nick had been left mostly in the care of men—a tutor before Eton and then a manservant whenever he was home from school. But when he’d been lonely or concerned about anything, which was admittedly rare, he’d found his way to the kitchen and Mrs. Jennings’s company. She had never failed to provide wise and caring counsel.

Her hair was white now, her girth broader. But she still exuded something he could not name. All he knew was that it brought him a certain peace.

“I understand we’re to have the pleasure of serving little Alice and her nanny at dinner tonight,” she said, returning to the table. She lay a plate before him with slices of fresh-baked bread dotted by butter, pieces of the Dale’s tangy cheese, cold chicken breast and a bowl of pitted cherries.

“I’d like them to join us every night,” Nick confirmed, reaching for a slice of the bread.

“So Mrs. Dunworthy said,” she replied with a nod. “She already consulted me about the menu.”

He was glad to hear her call the discussion a consultation. In his experience, Charlotte tended to be more forceful than that. “Then I take it you approve of the change,” he said before biting into the cheese.

“Not my place to approve,” Mrs. Jennings said as she went to pour him a glass of lemonade. When she returned, she grinned at him. “But yes, I’m glad you let the little one join you.”

“And Miss Pyrmont?” he asked, keeping his gaze on the cherries, which somehow reminded him of the nanny’s blushing cheeks.

“Her, too. A fine addition to the household. Clever, well educated, and she positively dotes on little Alice.”

He wasn’t certain what constituted doting, but he knew his daughter was pleased by it. Alice seemed to like attention more than he and Ann ever had.

“I wonder why she chose to be a nanny,” he mused, popping a cherry into his mouth.

“She’s naturally good with children,” Mrs. Jennings insisted. “Kind, warmhearted, a fine Christian lady.”

She made Miss Pyrmont sound perfect. He had never achieved perfection, despite the urgings of his father and Ann.

“So it would seem,” he replied, finding the cherry hard to swallow.

Either his manner or his tone must have sought reassurance, for she hastened to comfort him. “Now, then, you mustn’t worry you’ll lose her. She seems quite happy with her position. She never talks of missing London.” She bustled back to the hearth to check on her biscuits. The scent of cinnamon wafted through the room.

And why didn’t Miss Pyrmont miss London, he wondered as he sipped the tart lemonade. Though he treasured the quiet of Dovecote Dale, at times he missed the opportunities London afforded—ready access to materials, the massive libraries of past research, easy consultation with colleagues. Of course, it was the last that had resulted in his exile.

Had some tragedy forced Miss Pyrmont north, as well? What sort of evidence would corroborate that hypothesis? He’d seen no melancholy, little talk of her previous homes. In fact, she seemed loath to speak of London at all. Was that the evidence he sought?

“And here are your biscuits,” Mrs. Jennings proclaimed, setting a plate down on the table in front of him with a flourish. He could feel the steam rising from the little crescent-shaped delicacies, and with it their heavenly scent. His hand was reaching for one before he realized conscious effort.

“So Miss Pyrmont is content to be Alice’s nanny,” he said after eating two.

“For now,” his cook replied with a nod. “Of course, children outgrow their nannies. And I expect some of the gentlemen in the area may wish to have a say in her future.”

Nick frowned as he picked up the third biscuit. “I don’t follow your logic.”

Her skin tone approached the color of the cherries. “Begging your pardon, Sir Nicholas. It was only a flight of fancy. I have no call to be telling tales, and baseless ones at that.”

Nick set the biscuit down uneaten. “If you know something about Alice’s nanny that might affect her ability to honor her position, I need to know.”

She dropped her gaze, plump fingers tugging at her apron string as if it had suddenly become tighter. “Miss Pyrmont is the sort to give her work her very best, sir. But you’re quite right—a pretty young lady of her talents is a bit wasted in the role of nanny to only one child. If the butler Mr. Hennessy in the Earl of Danning’s household doesn’t steal her away from us to work in their nursery, which he hopes will expand once the earl chooses a wife, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of his footmen didn’t make her a life offer. She could do worse than to marry a fine strapping fellow with ambitions.”

And she could do a great deal better.

Nick blinked at the thought and was relieved he hadn’t said it aloud. Miss Pyrmont was a member of his staff. Her matrimonial prospects were none of his concern. Even her future was not his to command.

Mrs. Jennings was right. In a few years, Alice would graduate from a nanny to a governess. Though Miss Pyrmont seemed to have an enviable education, she would not have the knowledge of Society Alice would need to be successful in her Season. Ann had started planning for that day the minute Alice had been born. She would certainly not have approved of Miss Pyrmont as a governess.

Or of Nick thinking about the lovely Miss Pyrmont as anything more than a nanny.

* * *

Emma had Alice ready for dinner a few minutes early that evening even though the little girl squirmed through her dressing. Emma found herself almost as eager for the meal. Though she’d always believed herself good enough to sit at the table, at least now she fancied she looked the part, as well.

Mrs. Dunworthy had sent Ivy up with an apron dress late that afternoon. Though the cotton gown would generally be considered a day dress, Emma thought it would do quite nicely for dinner with the family. The gown was printed with blue squares surrounding yellow flowers and had a fuller skirt that swung as she walked. The long sleeves ensured that her burn was out of sight. Best of all, the way the bodice tied in place under the bib front allowed her to size it to her figure even though it had plainly been designed for a more ample lady. It was the least worn and prettiest dress she’d ever had.

“Like springtime you look,” Ivy had assured her before hurrying back to her other duties.

Emma felt like springtime, full of hope, full of light. When she’d dined with the family earlier, she’d been worried for her position. Now she merely wanted to further Alice’s position with her father. Perhaps tonight would lead to greater success in her campaign to court Sir Nicholas for his daughter.

The gentleman and his sister-in-law were already waiting in the beautiful salon when Emma brought in Alice. Mrs. Dunworthy seemed to have felt compelled to dress for the occasion, for her auburn hair was piled up high on her head, and she’d left off her cap for once. Her carmine satin gown bared her shoulders. What was undeniably a ruby gleamed on a golden chain about her neck. Perhaps it was a family heirloom. Hadn’t Emma heard that the lady had been destitute when she had come to live with the Rotherfords?

Sir Nicholas, on the other hand, looked less affluent. He still wore the tweed coat and brown trousers he’d had on during their walk in the woods. His only concession to fashion was that he’d changed his boots for evening pumps and then, Emma thought, only because Mrs. Dunworthy would not have allowed the mud of the field to touch her polished floors.

“There you are, Alice,” Mrs. Dunworthy said as if Emma and her niece were late instead of early. “What a pretty dress you have on this evening.”

Alice clutched the blue satin of her skirts and lifted them on either side so that the lace on the hem brushed her stockinged ankles while she twirled. “I like blue, too.” She dropped the material and gazed up at her father. “Do you think it a good color for me, Papa?”

“An excellent color, Alice,” he assured her with a bow. “Perhaps we should conduct our experiment on you some time, though, to confirm that.”

Alice nodded eagerly. Emma made a note to remind him of his suggestion. But Sir Nicholas wasn’t finished. He strolled closer as if regarding Alice’s gown, then bent his head to Emma’s.

“And I see that Alice and I were correct,” he murmured. “You look very well in blue.”

She could only hope she looked good in pink as well, for that was surely the color her cheeks were turning.

“I believe dinner is ready,” Mrs. Dunworthy said, though Emma could see by the ormolu clock on the mantel that it was still ten minutes before the hour. The lady held out her arm. “If you would be so kind, Nicholas.”

With a look to Emma that seemed to be apologetic, Sir Nicholas went to join his sister-in-law, leaving Emma to follow with Alice.

She couldn’t mind that she wasn’t walking on Sir Nicholas’s arm this time. She was here for Alice, after all. And walking behind Sir Nicholas gave her a chance to appreciate the way the candlelight glowed on his raven hair.

Oh, this would never do! She dropped her gaze to the marble floor until she reached the dining room chairs, where she helped Alice into her seat next to her father.

“And how is Lady Chamomile this evening?” Sir Nicholas asked after the first course had been served. Emma wasn’t sure what Mrs. Jennings had been thinking, for the food before them included a platter of smelt, the small black fish staring up at them from a bed of sautéed onions. Alice returned their stares, her back pressed so hard against the wood of her seat that her satin skirts nearly slipped from beneath her. And the spicy mulligatawny soup that accompanied the smelt made Alice wrinkle her nose.

“Lady Chamomile is hungry,” Alice said, letting her spoon fall into the soup with a splash that dotted the white tablecloth with gold.

Mrs. Dunworthy eyed Emma as if she had chosen the food or should have been hand-feeding Alice to prevent such a thing.

Sir Nicholas did not seem to mind. “After all those cinnamon biscuits?” he challenged with a smile. “I find that hard to believe.”

Alice brightened. “I like cinnamon biscuits.”

“Entirely too much,” Mrs. Dunworthy said. “It seems a family trait.” Now her disapproving eye settled on Sir Nicholas. Though Emma felt for him, she was glad for the respite, using the moment to direct Alice’s attention to the crusty bread that had been served with the soup.

“I’m certain there must be a limit to the number of biscuits one should consume a day,” Sir Nicholas said, digging into his smelt with an enthusiasm Emma could not muster. “Happily, I have yet to reach it.”

Emma hid her smile. “Perhaps that should be your next experiment, sir.”